expensive days

Some days find me in the kitchen all day long.  Breakfast table set like the dinner table and everyone gathered around. Cooking must be therapeutic or a retreat, because why else would i do it?  I retreat.  I look for mental help.  Why does rising dough dusted with flour soothe?  Why does the soup bubbling

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the power of your sister’s shoes

eleanor has become obsessed with a pair of shoes. in her mind, they fit. i’ve been helping her in and out of these, feeling like i could take on something larger than myself. i can still make believe my way into reality, right? the determination involved in doing what we haven’t yet achieved is tiresome. 

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learning wonder

saturday night ended the faith and writing festival. i sat in vespers so full. i worshiped with poets and i was a burning star in my wooden chair. i am thankful. calvin college feeds the hungry every other year. this year they fed the near starving. i cried most days for the truth and the

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unexpected

easter is sixteen days away. easter gets the short end of the holiday stick in my life.  or at least, it has. christmas and easter were jesus-less for me growing up.  christmas has each year steady become full.  there is something in the early, dark that shuts the cold out and the heat and the

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and the winner is…

the frost on the old car in front is a dream. the grass is holding it too. frost is wrapping up its time with us. can winter and quick be in the same sentence? this year, somehow, they are. for me. “see the sun shining?” my six year old boy asks after creeping down the

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seasonal employee

spring is making some promises.  i know she’ll make good on them, but when the coat gets pulled close and the scarf still wraps around, you have to wonder. change.  it’s given when it comes and then it’s all we have.  but before that point we construct it ourselves.  or try to. too soon is

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hurry up and wait

this week found us rushing to the doctor’s office. abraham had been quiet about his sore throat, but the pain had gone on too long. i scrambled to get all of them and me in the van and down the road. i don’t like being late. as we hummed along, the snowflakes fell fatter and

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it must be hard.

it’s hard to accept the blame for what you did not do. it’s hard to have your hopes, held high above your head, tipped off the fingers and watch, falling, smash on the ground. it must be. it must be hard to tell those you love what you mean, four times even, and still no

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